Angela's Eyes
by MessyJess
Summary: NO LONGER A ONE-SHOT. I have a theory on how Angela always seems to know everything. This is a, hopefully, comedic take on the meddlesome inclinations of the resident artist, and how she amuses herself when not giving the dead their faces. Mild language.
1. Angela's Eyes

He was being weird

He was being weird. More weird than usual. She was being weird too. They were both being weird. And as much as she wished their weirdness would coalesce into a happy roll in the hay, she knew it wouldn't. She watched from across the lab as the partners talked about something or other. The body language was all off. Booth would lean in, but then sort of catch himself and pull back, and then Brennan would gesture with her hands and come _thisclose_ to touching him before she would snap her hands back down to her sides. Yes, they were definitely being weird.

_I wonder what happened?_ The pair had never acted like this before except for those brief moments after their mistletoe kiss a few months back, but they had rebounded from that so quickly. Totally sexless her ass, she had asked Caroline Julian about it, and there had been _tongue_ and grabbing of lapels. _Plus,_ she had heard gum was exchanged during their little encounter; a tidbit Brennan had let slip, accidentally, when trying to shut her up when she started to squeal. _No one_ exchanges gum with a guy in a sexless manner. There had to have been some serious tongue thrusting for that to happen.

Oh, wait, something was happening. Geez, he just touched her hair. Oh look, Brennan, a phantom leaf, that's not really there, he just can't help himself. Oh do you see the invisible leaf as well? How convenient for both of you. God, this was just too awkward. They just needed to grab each other and have at it, but noooo, they were professionals. They were 'just partners'. She idly wondered if she could have Jack brew up some sort of compound to induce sexual fervor and just lock them in a room together. There was probably a slime-related something or other, or like an Indonesian mating roach.

She was finding it difficult to look away. She knew if she got caught they'd just roll their eyes and use it as an excuse to laugh nervously or call her an, 'emotional artist' or delusional. Ha! They were the delusional ones. She wondered how the two would fare in London, all by themselves, with no Sweets to collectively beat up on, or Jack to laugh at, or Caroline to blame for moments of weakness. They were gonna be humping like bunnies by the end of that trip. No way could they survive the romance of Europe, when they had trouble not touching each other in the freaking lab. No way.

Where are they going? Oh, Brennan's office. Hmmm, this could be interesting, she slightly adjusted her position on the platform so that she had a clear view of everything going on in the glass-encased office. Damn it! They sat on the couch and she couldn't see their faces. She knew she should have forced Brennan to feng-shui her office last month. Well, at least now she could just outright stare at them without their noticing.

How sweet, they're leaning on each other. For a moment, she felt guilty that she was hoping Brennan would transform her relationship with Booth. She knew how much Brennan needed Booth, but they were just so perfect together. What the hell was wrong with them? Just turn your heads, look into each other's eyes, and…kiss her for Christ's sake!

Oh my God! Did that just happen? She could have sworn she just saw Booth…she was so excited that she leaned too far over an instrument tray and it crashed to the floor with a resonating scatter or metal across metal. Everyone in the lab looked up at her, and after she was sure she didn't have some sort of probing device piercing through her foot she, her eyes quickly shot back to the couple in Brennan's office. Damn it, they had gotten off the couch and were staring through the window to see what the kerfuffle was all about.

No, no, sit back down. Go back to what you were doing. She knew she had just seen Booth lean over a kiss Brennan ever-so-slightly on the lips. Do that again, except this time, ram it home, dude. She smiled sheepishly at everyone who was still staring at her and pretended to be preoccupied collecting the tools from the ground. Maybe if she didn't look at them, they would sit back down and make out. Her peripheral vision allowed her to see the partners staring at each other now. She saw Brennan's head nod, presumably in response to something Booth had said.

Wait, where were they going? Why did they have their coats? Don't leave! I can't watch you if you leave. Crap! Where were they going? They were smiling as they walked out, Booth's hand on the small of Brennan's back. They must be going to the diner. Angela slapped the metal tools into a plastic container and shoved them at a grad student to go be re-sterilized and she sprinted down the steps to her office. She grabbed for the phone. She dialed a very familiar number, and waited for an answer.

"Hello, yes, is Vera available? This is Angela. Thank you." She tapped her foot while she waited for Vera to get on the line. "Vera, hey, it's Angela. Good, good. I think that our little project is headed your way. Let me know if they don't show up. Thanks, talk to you later, bye."

She smiled to herself as she laid the phone back in its cradle. Just because she couldn't see them herself didn't mean she couldn't know everything they were doing. Brennan would kill her if she knew that Angela had involved the wait staff of the diner in her scheme to thrust Booth and Brennan into thrusting each other. She sat at her desk to look at notes and patiently wait for a phone call. If the couple _didn't_ show up at the diner then she would have something to work with. She would just ask Brennan where they went to lunch, and if Brennan said, "just the diner," then that meant they had gone somewhere secret and illicit and did naughty things that she would then force the good doctor to tell her all about. But if they _did_ go to the diner, then she could just get all the details from Vera.

Nearly thirty minutes later her extension rang. It was Vera. No Booth and Brennan. Which would have been a shame since they had Booth's favorite pie as the special today. After Angela hung up she rubbed her hands together. Ha ha! A game to play. Fun to be had. She wondered what they were doing right this very instant. Hopefully they were in the throes of ecstasy. She couldn't wait for Brennan to get back to work. Today would be a glorious day.


	2. Hodgins Magnified

He liked microscopes

He liked microscopes. Had liked them since childhood. They magnified the essence of things, and when one understood the pieces of the puzzle, the larger meaning and impact became clear. It was all pretty beautiful if you got into it. His love of microscopes and all the little pieces of life had led him to his job here at the Jeffersonian and away from the annoying investment bankers, puffed up estate lawyers, and droning surgeons that his parents had associated with throughout his childhood.

He had shunned the wealthy, and they had basically shunned him right back, which was fine with him. He had his microscope and friends with interesting things to talk about that had very little to do with off-shore accounts or the stock exchange. He was pleased with being appreciated for more than his money, and to be respected for his hard work. He worked with artists, doctors, cops, and the occasional lawyer. It was incredible to think about standing in a circle with four or five other people that were the best at what they did. In their little circle they represented outstanding achievement and capability. They could solve the unsolvable. And that had always been good enough for him.

Then the artist got under his skin. She was beautiful, intelligent, and interesting to say the least. She had been places and seen things. Done things that made his mouth gape in shock. She was funny and utterly herself at all times. She was just plain great, and he loved her. And because he loved her he talked to her and listened to her problems and tried to help her with anything she needed no matter what it was. And right now, she needed him to "closely observe" his boss and her partner. Both of which could probably beat the ever-loving crap out of him with one hand if they caught him.

He carefully scooped a jar full of mud from next to the rotting corpse in front of him, pretending not to be listening to the conversation bouncing back and forth between the agent and scientist behind him. They had already gone through the preliminary observation of the corpse and were now letting Hodgins collect particulates along with the FBI forensic lab personnel. Their voices had become rather hushed, but he could still make out a few key words, "tonight," "your place," and "food." He had leaned back slightly in order to hear, which had turned out to be a bad idea in a squatting position because he had to quickly lean forward in order to regain his balance and almost went face forward into the poor decomposing bastard in front of him.

The agent clapped a hand on his shoulder to help him steady and said something smug about working on muscles to improve balance. Typical wit. He rose from his squatting position and moved around to the other side of the remains, sacrificing the ability to eavesdrop for the good of solving murders, and in order to have a direct eyeline of the crime fighting duo without being caught staring.

There's always so much leaning going on with those two. He leans in, she leans in. Her chin just out as his head tilts and that sly little grin charms its way across his face. Then her half grin starts pulling at the corners of her mouth and he rocks back on his heels while his hands quickly and quietly slap together in front of him, a not-so-subtle celebration of his triumph. She shakes her head ever so slightly, knowing its best just to let him think he's won.

The two of them were as predictable as gravity. He looked back down at the corpse in front of him and scraped some spores and stood up. He was confident he had everything he needed, he was ready to go. Back into the truck with the partners and back to the lab to share everything with Angela. Maybe they'd talk about after-work plans some more on the way back so he could let Ange know. She'd probably be really happy to hear about that.

Holy crap! Booth just touched her butt. He looked around and over his shoulder, hoping like hell someone else just saw it too. He needed confirmation. It was so quick, just a little brush of the hand over her rear. It was right there! In the middle of a crime scene. In front of the whole world! How did no one else see that? Maybe it didn't happen. Brennan didn't drop kick him, so he was probably just hallucinating. But he could have sworn….holy crap, he just did it again!

This time the good doctor looked over her shoulder at the agent, and she smiled at him. Oh man, this was gonna be so sweet. He was gonna tell Angela, she was gonna be grateful, and then he'd be brushing his hand over _her _butt and all would be right with the world. All he had to do was play it cool until they got back to the lab. If they knew that _he_ knew they'd probably threaten him with bodily harm until he swore to all that is good and right with the world not to tell. But he was gonna tell. 'Cause Booth touched Brennan's butt like it was totally okay and normal, and Brennan smiled at Booth instead of kneeing him in the giblets. Dude, sweet.


	3. Sweets Observed

Oh God, he was so bored

Oh God, he was so bored. When did neuroses become the hallmark of FBI agents everywhere? People used to suffer from depression. Hardcore, wallowing, eternally dark depression. Now people were so worried about suffering from depression, ADD, and other obscure personality disorders that they just worked up really boring neuroses instead of really exciting mental illnesses. He spun himself in his chair behind his desk, stared at the tiles on the ceiling, and yearned for conflict and repressed emotions. He dropped his feet to the floor with a thud and stopped his spinning motion. He knew exactly where to go for conflict and repressed emotions.

The walls of the Hoover building were not pleasant. They were this bizarre color that bordered on taupe, with an accent color that was stuck somewhere on the spectrum between eggplant and vomit. There was also the intermittent bleating of agents on the phone where he would only catch one or two words, and they were usually disturbing, like, rape, murder, second victim, child molester, etc. He was always on edge when he walked through the outer office area to agent Booth's private area.

The agent had his back turned toward the door and he was on the phone as Sweets entered. That was always awkward. When someone was on the phone and didn't notice you walked in the room. You either had to make some obscure noise, like a throat clearing, or just pretend you didn't notice they were on the phone and say something like, "Hey, man!" in an overly loud voice to be heard over the phone conversation you're pretending not to notice. Then you have to act quietly repentant when they turn around and give you the universal hand gesture for, "I'm on the phone, wait just one second." Knowing Booth, his hand gesture would be accompanied by an admonishing eye roll and a sigh.

The therapist decided to just sit in the chair across from the desk and wait to be noticed. Hoping for the off chance that maybe the agent would be caught off guard enough to blurt out, "I'm in love with my partner, and would like to make sweet love to her down by the fire." In one particular scenario that he replayed in his mind the two would finally hook up, and then loudly announce to everyone that they'd only realized their love for each other because of Dr. Lance Sweets. They'd call him a psychological genius and there'd be clapping and pats on the back. Hopefully, that Daisy Wick intern would be there and see the whole thing. That would be totally awesome.

His head snapped up and back to reality at the sound of Booth's chair squeaking as he began his turn back around to face forward, but suddenly stopped his rotation with most of his back still turned toward the desk. Sweets' ears perked up at the next words out of the agent's mouth, "Bones, we probably shouldn't be discussing that right now," a pause, then "Because we agreed to focus on work during business hours. We'll, uh, do _that_, later." Sweets was leaning so far forward in his chair that when his jaw dropped in shock that the agent's desk was the only thing keeping it from hitting the floor. He pulled himself together as he heard the requisite goodbye exchange and leaned back and tried to look nonchalant.

Booth completed his spin and was now staring at the doctor, one eyebrow raised. Sweets tried to meet the stare straight on, but knew he would lose this private fight for dominance. The odds were stacked against him. They were in agent Booth's office, on his floor of the building, Booth could beat the crap out of him, and he was wearing the green tie. The green tie meant he had been in a playful mood when he woke up this morning, and was therefore rested, relaxed, and ready to take on his wimp therapist, and smile while doing it. Damn it.

He could feel his face turning red, and then, without a word, the agent stood up, walked around the desk, grabbed his suit coat from the hook, shrugged it on, and waited in the doorway. He turned his head to look at Sweets and then silently gestured with his head to get the hell up and let's go. The young man felt heat rise to his face and he clambered up out of the chair and followed the agent through the office, down the hall, into then out of the elevator, and into the observation cubicle for interrogation room 4.

Booth left him there and walked to the next door and joined a totally wicked looking dude with tattoos covering his entire left arm and neck. Fifteen minutes later Dr. Brennan joined him in the observation room. Booth was firing questions at the massive man, probably hoping to confuse him into the truth. The scientist stood next to Sweets, her arms crossed under her breasts and her eyes glued to the scene beyond the glass.

In the interest of psychological inquiry, Sweets decided to observe the observer. He surreptitiously inched back so that he was slightly behind Dr. Brennan and out of her direct peripheral vision so that he could watch her as she watched the scene play out. The conversation between agent Booth and the guy covered with body art was escalating, and at one point Booth slammed his hand on the table. Brennan's chin came up at this and her arms squeezed tighter under her breasts. Her mouth dropped open just slightly and she took an audible breath. That happened about four times over the next half hour, always when Booth asserted himself in some physical way. If he were an anthropologist, he would find her behavior very predictable and telling. He idly wondered how she would react to him saying that. She'd probably deck him, so he held back.

Booth poked his head into the observation room and gestured to Brennan to come join him. She walked into the hall and lead the way back to the interrogation room. Sweets leaned slightly to observe their body language as they entered the room, but tried to stay out of their sight line. Booth was right behind Brennan as she reached for the door handle, but he stopped her arm with his right hand, leaned his head close to her ear, put his left hand on her hip, and whispered something. _That_ was really close contact.

There had always been contact. The hand on the back, the occasional arm around the shoulder, the _leaning_. But _that_...that was totally, like, _contact_. That was huge. That was like the first steps in a mating ritual. Holy crap! He needed to call someone. He frantically looked around for a piece of paper and a pen, scribbled a note about the utter lack of assistance he could provide with this particular suspect and sprinted down the hall, up four flights of stairs, to his office, and to his phone. After three rings the artist picked up. Without even waiting to say hello or identify himself he blurted out, "They're totally doing it!" Over the next half hour speculations were shared and Hodgins was called. This was totally awesome.


	4. Zack's Impartiality

**I'd like to thank all of you who have reviewed. You've inspired me to keep going with the story. This chapter is not the end, there will be at least one more, if not two or three. Please let me know what you think, and thanks again to all of you who have reviewed. I really appreciate it.**

ZACK'S IMPARTIALITY

The problem with the rest of the people observing the partners is that they weren't objective enough. They all really wanted Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth to become involved romantically. He could not care less. Romantic relationships often ended with disastrous results for him, so he didn't really wish that upon either Dr. Brennan or Agent Booth.

Objectively, he could definitely make a strong case against the pair's change in behavior. He disagreed with Hodgins "leaning hypothesis" as well as Angela and Dr. Sweets' "increase in touching" theory. However, that could be explained by any number of things that the three other observers didn't account for.

Booth may be leaning because he is suffering from hearing loss. He's been struck in the head a number of times, not to mention the gunshots and bombs that have gone off in his presence. It would be illogical to think he could live such a dangerous life without suffering some long-term damage to his body. Along the same lines, the inner ear could have been damaged, making his balance somewhat weaker. That would more effectively explain the leaning and subsequent pulling back that Angela and Hodgins described. Also, Agent Booth losing his balance and needing to hold on to Dr. Brennan for support could explain Sweets' tableau outside the interrogation room door.

As to the touching of hair witnessed by Angela, well, maybe there really was something in Dr. Brennan's hair. Angela had been pretty far away, maybe she just hadn't seen it. And the kiss in Dr. Brennan's office may not have even happened. Angela's testimony had been somewhat hampered by the fact she was so overly excited she knocked over an entire tray full of equipment. Hodgins' "ass-graze" could also just have been a mistake. Maybe Booth's hand had slipped, or maybe it wasn't even Dr. Brennan's ass. Agent Booth was always placing his hand on Dr. Brennan's lower back, so that could also be attributed to wishful thinking on the part of the observer.

He gathered the bones from limbo back into their plastic container and scribbled some notes on the slip of paper inside. He had been able to identify a partial set of bones that had been tucked away in this museum for nearly forty years, _and _he had sorted out the scattered thoughts of his coworkers. Sometimes he amazed even himself.

The halls were quiet as he walked toward Dr. Brennan's office, the faint echo of his shoes on the polished floors and the steady hum of technology were the only noises at this hour of the night. Dr. Brennan had to have final confirmation on all the limbo identifications. As he approached the glass door of the Medico-Legal lab he looked through it to the platform and then over toward Dr. Brennan's office. Her desk lamp was still on, maybe he'd be able to deliver the bones in person. Maybe she'd say, "Good work, Zack," and he could be King of the Lab tomorrow because he'd sorted out two mysteries simultaneously.

He pulled open the door to the lab and turned left to head toward Dr. Brennan's office, when he noticed that she wasn't sitting at her desk. She was leaning back on her couch, and she wasn't alone. Zack was staring at the back of Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's heads, and they were pressed together, mouth to mouth. They were kissing. They were kissing a lot. He couldn't see their hands, but he could guess where they were. He blinked several times to make sure that what he was seeing was real. It was. He looked down at the plastic container of bones in his hand and then back at the office. He had to make a decision. Interrupt the pair to leave the bones and be cursed forever by Angela, and probably threatened with death by Agent Booth, or go back to limbo and replace the bones and pretend to identify them tomorrow morning and _then_ take them to Dr. Brennan.

Zack was no idiot, he slowly backed up toward the door to the lab. He opened it and walked as quickly as he could toward limbo. He replaced the container and then took the long route around to the back entrance of the lab. He darted into his office, grabbed his house keys, phone, and coat, and started dialing Hodgins' number to come pick him up. He was definitely going to be King of the Lab tomorrow.


	5. Lawyers See Everything

The honest to God, died in the wool genius and the egotistical, belt buckle wearing FBI agent were hiding something

The honest to God, died in the wool genius and the egotistical, belt buckle wearing FBI agent were hiding something. And they were bad at it. She wanted to reach out and shake the both of them. They were walking a fine line. Lord only knew what would happen if Cullen ever paid attention to the partners. They were gonna slip sometime. She thought she had them last Christmas with that kiss, but they'd kept their mushy mouths shut and their hands off during trial preparation ever since. What she needed was evidence, so far all she'd heard from the rest of the brain trust at that museum was circumstantial, they didn't have concrete proof. They were all useless when it came to hard evidence, but she wasn't. And she'd get her evidence.

She watched Booth squirm across the broad wooden conference table while the doctor sat calmly in her seat, listening to everything she was being told. As she talked about the case and peppered the two with questions they should expect from the defense attorneys she quietly took stock of the situation. What she had in front of her were two very smart people, each in their own way. The only weakness they had was each other. She could use that, these puppies were toast.

She wrapped up her tirade and leaned down to the left of her seat and reached into her briefcase. She pulled out two stapled sets of paper and slid them across the table, one to each partner.

"What's this, Caroline?" asked Booth and he squinted at the top sheet.

"These are formal disclosures, darlin'. You've got to fill one out when you begin a more-than-platonic relationship with anyone who works within the bureau." The two people sitting across the table from her sat there with mouths agape.

"Booth and I aren't conducting a relationship outside of our partnership. These forms are unnecessary." She slid the sheet back across the table as she said it, but Booth was still holding onto his.

"Let me tell you something, cherie. If the bureau finds _any_ evidence that the two of you are involved in _any_ way, and if said evidence is presented as a weakness in a court of law, and a murderer goes free because of it, you will both be terminated, immediately. And while that might be okay for you Ms. New York Times bestseller, I'm sure that Booth would not have as much career to fall back on." She raised her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair. She had them now. They could either deny, and risk it all, or come clean and sign the disclosures.

"What do you mean by 'evidence'? It's not like we're being investigated. What could they possibly find?" Booth began to slide his form back across the table as well.

"Cherie, the entire justice system of Washington D.C. knows who you two are. Not to mention the millions of people who read bone lady's books, as well as any department the two of you have collaborated with. Any defense attorney going up against one of you in court for, say, a criminal being shot in pursuit, would have you investigated for ulterior motives. If someone threatened Dr. Brennan's life one day, and ended up shot the next, they could exploit your romantic relationship. There will also be issues raised about her father's trial and so on and so forth. You see where I'm going with this. If it's disclosed in a professional manner, odds are it won't catch anyone by surprise if it comes up in court and, if it comes to it, we can have Sweets argue the practical and compartmentalized nature of your…partnership." She hadn't moved from her relaxed position in her chair, her arms were crossed over her belly, but now she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Of course, we all know. We've all seen the way you two act together. Two lusty puppies falling all over each other. Don't think you can fool me. I know everything."

She leaned back in her seat at her last statement and gave them both a self-satisfied grin. The two partners looked at each other and then at the form in Booth's hand. The doctor leaned forward and slid her copy back to her own side of the table and grabbed a pen from her purse. She filled in the name blanks and signed the sheet, then handed the pen to the special agent who did the same. When they were done they both slid the papers back across the table.

"Well, thank you for that. Now you two get out of here, and mind where you put your hands in the office." The two got up to leave and as the door clicked shut behind them, the lawyer pulled out her cell phone.

"Ms. Montenegro, I have signed confessions. Say thank you with gifts." She flipped her phone shut and indulged in a private burst of laughter.


End file.
